Roy's Decision
by forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: He drove as fast as he dared. He couldn't afford to get pulled over with a body in the trunk. Roy breathed out sharply. He'd made a colossal mistake and now he had to make a choice. But what if his problem just won't die?
1. Prologue

Prologue

"_He told me how he felt…"_

Squeezing, tighter and tighter, crushing his chest. All the tension in his shoulders spread down his arms so hard that they were screaming at him.

"…_and I guess I had feelings too…_"

His throat was raw, like tiny knives were scratching at it incessantly. He could feel every inch of throat rough and tight. His heart was pulsing, hard. The sounds of the bar became fuzzy, it was now only her voice, just her voice with him.

"_we kissed."_

He snapped.

From there the rage roared and roared. It had shot down his arm and into the glass that shattered the frame on the wall then fired through his legs making them kick chairs over. Compelling his whole physical being with such energy it sparked and crackled through him, punching and kicking and destroying. When it had finished scorching his body it flooded up to his head, contorting his mouth and poisoning his thoughts.

When his brother had left and he was alone it bubbled in his stomach unpleasantly, insides squirming as he thought of what his love had told him. Still in pain he tried to drive it off, roving round town aimlessly, shaking himself almost unconsciously. Gritting his teeth and then releasing the tension through a strangled yell, grunt of pain, wordless call into the night.

And then he had seen it. The object of his hurt and anger and hate; just strolling down the road, not a care in the world. As he drove nearer, his gaze both focused, every detail sharpening unbearably, and clouded so he couldn't see clearly at all.

He stopped and leapt out. From there he became blind until he found himself in an alley in the night's frost, shivering with the cold, quaking with anger. He looked down at his hands, the skin on his knuckles broken open. He looked at the floor and saw where he'd broken them.

His opponent lay still. Worry biting through the fading anger he looked round furtively before bending down and reaching for a frozen wrist.

He couldn't believe it, he just couldn't…

Oh Lord have mercy.


	2. The Mistake

Chapter 1- The Mistake

He hadn't meant for this to happen. He had never set out to hurt anyone, but he had ended up hurting Pam, his beloved fiancée, his ray of sunshine, his precious girl and… He shook his head, not thinking about the body that was bent double in the boot. He remembered the struggle, thinking _damn he's tall._

Had been.

Now no more.

Roy ran a hand through his head vigorously, gritting his teeth together so hard he thought he heard a crunch. That sound reminded him of the loud crack he'd heard only twice in his life, but each of those times had been deadly. He drove as fast as he dared. He couldn't afford to get pulled over, not now. His mind wandered back a few feet to the trunk and… He blinked furiously, trying to see something else in his mind's eye than blood.

It had been her mistake. She shouldn't have kissed someone else, not when she was engaged to him. She shouldn't have kissed _him_. Anyone but him.

Roy shook with rage anew, he had known from the start. All the glances and in-jokes and laughing and goddam smirks of that-

He breathed out sharply.

He should have stopped it. He shouldn't have let it go on. Maybe if he had…done, something.

But he stared sightlessly as his conscience didn't let him blame her or even... He stopped.

No matter how angry he had been, no matter how drunk or wounded, it had still been a mistake. A terrible, horrendous mistake he still couldn't bring himself to admit was truly his fault. If only the bugger hadn't tried to fight back, if only he hadn't claimed Roy unworthy of her, if only he hadn't pulled that last punch. If only…

No! It wasn't his fault, or hers. It was the smarmy bastard who'd been sniffing around every single second he'd been with her. He'd seduced his little Pammy with his stupid little jokes and fucking-

He pulled over, eyes welling up. Turning off the ignition he sat still until tears began to shake his shoulders. Then steadily growing harder, sobs wracked him. What had he done?

Why couldn't he have stopped? His fists had just keep on swinging, the furious blood in his veins surging through them, fuelling their rage.

Taking deeper breaths he pulled himself out of the growing pit that was _him_, and tried to think. What was he going to do?

He glanced through the windshield and then around all four corners, twisting uncomfortably in his seat, the belt cutting into his skin. He'd stopped in a layby on quiet road a good drive from where it'd had happened. Mind whirling now, he gulped down bile and breathed. He hadn't seen a single car since he had pulled over, there were no security cameras; no witnesses, no connection, no blame.

He had made sure that he hadn't been seen earlier, if he could stealthily dump the body and act normal until everything blew over then maybe, maybe he could be saved.

He took a deep breath, undid his seat belt, opened the door, got out, walked round, turned away for a second, turned back and then stood; shuddering as he steeled himself. He popped the trunk and slowly opened it inch by inch. He looked down, screwing his face up in disgust and shame. He looked down at the limp form. He looked down on the tarnish on his soul, his enemy, his biggest problem turned into his worst nightmare. His mistake.

It moved.


	3. The Panic

Chapter 2- The Panic

He jumped. No emotion, no thoughts, just a jerk back into the night. Frozen by the cold and vaguely feeling a heavy weight slowly crushing his organs from the chest down, he must have stood still staring at the boot for a few minutes. Slowly, his brain rebooted and reminded him of an old science class, sometimes involuntarily twitches continue a few hours after death. Sometimes there's a reasonable scientific explanation.

Gulping fear, he took a step forward and looked reluctantly in again. Quiet as the gr-

He shook himself, now was the time for action not for clichés. Gingerly, he dug out that pale wrist; it was warmer than before and he was calmer. This time, there was no missing that small, ominous beat. Dropping the wrist he reached up and slammed the boot shut again; eyes squeezing shut as his diagram forced pain up through his throat and into the quiet.

No, no, no… He paced. He took a few strides the length of the car then turned abruptly and paced for mere seconds before turning again, like a caged animal, a panicked bird. Why didn't he just leave him there? Run away, drive into the distance?

Hand to thundering chest he tried to still it, organising the thoughts rushing past his eyes. He couldn't stay here, not in the open; he had to go somewhere to think properly. Suddenly a road sign bobbed up on the swirling sea of nausea in his head, it was the sign he always saw whenever going to his brother's log cabin. Not able to open the trunk again he got back into the driver's seat and managed to drive. Just.

He tried not to think about it on the road too much, but the lack of required thought in driving the familiar route – even in the dark – laid his mind open to attacks of panic, confusion and self-doubt. He was sure he'd heard a distinctive crack as the tall man's head had thudded against the brick. He had recognised the sound from the depths of his past, a murky bar, a friend's rage, an unfortunate shove onto the bar top and…the crack.

Dead instantly.

The log cabin loomed ahead and he decided to get inside quickly. He only slowed to prepare himself for an awake corpse, but his ready fist was rendered unnecessary by the lifelessness. For the third time that night he checked to see if the life had completely drained away.

But no.

Still it persisted.

He couldn't see the cabin properly in the dark but it remained perfectly in his memory; small, quaint and secluded. White beams, white railings framing a sky blue painted front, quaint decking and lace curtains in the windows, Pam had commented once on how she would love to live there. Roy had laughed, but now he yearned for the chance to go back and say yes. In the summer the heat would quiver the air in thick bands, sprouting sweat that glistened on her skin, blue skies that reflected in her eyes and just happiness.

Just happiness.

He couldn't see the house properly through the oppressive night. Struggling in, he felt an icy blanket tighten his skin as his stomach shivered, concentrated lines of pain raked up his arms as he navigated through the dark with his mistake. Everything was cold. Even inside the air bit at his face and hands, quickly he found the generator and started the heating. The lights came on and he looked around.

Everything was as he remembered. The living space contained by light green walls, a cheery carpet under a squat coffee table; a generic painting of a ship sailing over the old-fashioned fireplace and just some other simple furnishings in the little room. Bitterly, he glanced down at the dead-weight on the floor and briefly considered heaving it onto the sofa. But no. He didn't want to stain anything that he'd shared with her. He ignored the dark voice.

Too late, too late.

His pacing was longer now, but not by much. Thoughts tumbling around like inept sailors on a storm-ridden ship he slowed, fuzzy and tired now, the night's events taking their toll. He swayed ever so slightly, before regaining purpose as another memory blinked on through the storm of his mind. The gin was still there in the dusty cabinet.

He downed too much, it burned his frozen throat, coarsening it. He coughed and choked, wheezing and clutching his chest. Trying to calm his quivering heart, he breathed deeply, muttering to himself. Sighing, he blinked hard.

A noise startled him. He shot his head round to the problem on the sofa. It had made a noise. Roy waited, breath held. The light flickered.

"Pam." It was thin and rasped, but there. For an incalculable amount of time, Roy stood in the centre of the room staring blankly into space. For the first time, there was just nothing inside him. No symptom of emotion. Just blankness.

Time passed in silence before he felt his heart beating faster and a torrent of crushing waves flooded him.

Sadness.

Outrage.

Shame.

Of all the things he could have said.

Pam woke suddenly. Half a dream slipped away as her eyes snapped open to the darkness. She took a moment to regain balance within herself. That dream… It had been warm in the dream; she smiled a little as she remembered, hugging her arms over a sinking feeling in her chest.

She sighed, rubbing her head and leaned over to check the time on her phone. Her alarm clock had broken and Roy had thrown it out. She had kept that alarm clock on her bedside table since her beau had given it to her at the end of high school; she'd fallen in the love with the eggshell blue glossy paint over the classic shape. Briefly, she'd thought about fishing it out and hiding it in a draw but when she'd found it in the trash, the screen was cracked and it wasn't the same. Her phone lit up.

Midnight, well didn't she have a thrilling life? On the other hand, someone had left her a message. Sagging slightly as she had an idea of who it was from, she almost ignored it, suspecting it to be a drunken apology or tirade. Both equally possible. But out of habit, she listened to it; tired and shaken she immediately smiled when she recognised the voice.

"Hey Pam, its Jim. Listen, sorry for calling so late, I know that at-" There was a pause she assumed that he'd be looking at his watch in. She indulged in it, smiling deeper. "9.36 pm you'll be all tucked up in bed reading – by candlelight of course – 'Message in a Bottle' or possibly 'Romeo and Juliet' from your old high school text book, depending on what you had for dinner." He chuckled a little and she sank a little deeper under her covers. "But anyway, what I wanted to say was-" A scuffling sound cut him off, she thought she heard a confused noise underneath the muffled shout, more static-like noises and suddenly the tone.

He hadn't left any other messages. No texts. She rang him, three times in quick succession, each time.

"Hi this is Jim, please-"

She rang the Police, explained, listened, nodded and then hung up.

Quivering with fear, she tried to fight this rising feeling in her stomach.

It was nothing, there was some explanation.

She was wrong to worry, everything would be alright.

It was Jim. It always was alright with him.

"-leave a message and I'll get right back to you."

It was _Jim._


	4. The Decision

Chapter 3- The Decision

He had to ignore it. All of it. The confusion and hurt and…

All emotions had to leave. All he needed was a plan. Or, not a plan…not yet.

He couldn't do anything until he had decided what course he would take. He shuddered. He was staring into the darkness, looking down two equally dank and treacherous paths. The only thing that distinguished them was a light, small but brilliant. He thought for a long time, about death and responsibility and the law and his family and his future and life in itself.

The only light in his future was Pam. He held his face in his hands as he stood in that darkened room surrounded by the dead of night. Her face appeared in his inner eye, smiling, happy, oblivious.

He could not lose her. Raising his head he nodded, it was the only real choice he had. But one that meant…

Could he really kill another human being? Take a life?

It didn't matter who it was or what they'd done. The value of life is surely insurmountable, surely… He had always been taught to be straight and good and to not hurt others. But sometimes, hurt just happened. It was only your hand that delivered it, not caused it. Grunting a little he shook it head.

He started pacing again. Every compromise was flawed, he couldn't make the man forget or silence him for sure without entertaining the possibility of death. No, if he were to remain free, the mistake had to be finished.

Completely.

The first thing he registered was a pounding on the back of his head, sharp and constant it was like an explosion of white light behind his eyes, every second, every moment. It was cold and his front was soaked. There was something strong pulling on his leg; dragging it? Loud rustling filled his ears, something scratching his face. The ground was moving?

W-what?

He tried to drag his eyes open, darkness, dimness, darkness. Black and grey, black and grey. Where…where? The world stopped moving suddenly and he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to adjust to the darkness. Was that grass? He couldn't feel his fingers but knew somehow that they were stiff; he tried moving them and had no idea if they had. It was so cold. His head was so heavy, his eyelids struggled to keep open until he saw a face ripple into his mind.

Pam.

He forced himself to turn over and looking up, he saw Death waiting for him. For a terrifying moment, he couldn't register what was happening; all he knew was that the blunt edge raised had the intention of ending him, ending it all. For a fraction of time, he was glad.

No more confusion, no more pain or cold or chaos in his head. A swift, merciful end to the agony of longing and waiting. Slowly, the sounds of the night and his assailant seeped through the blank fear; he thought he heard laughter and with that Pam found him again. But now she was screaming.

Jim pulled his eyes away, shielding his face and raising a cold, shaking hand, palm shown to the Lord of Life and Death. Mercy…mercy.

The spade had hovered, impatiently, in the air for a few seconds before the victim had stirred and acted to defend himself. With the raised palm, the spade stilled and lowered, centimetres at a time until the arms gave in and it clanged to the floor in defeat.

He couldn't. He just couldn't.

The collapsed figure had crumpled again, through fatigue, pain, the standing didn't know. He knelt beside the battered man, a cold knife whistling around his body, feinting impishly at his neck, hands and feet; piercing through his thick clothes to his stomach, making it shake. Looking up, he saw that the night was still strong and that, especially during this season, daylight would not come for a long time. Too long a time for a dying man.

In the worst action of his life, he was cold, deeply ashamed and doubtful about the ordeal's end. But he walked away nonetheless; hoping the cruelty of Nature would match his own and deliver on conviction where he could not. Little did he know that as he walked with that brilliant light in his head, guiding him down his path, that same light burned stronger in the other's soul and it was more than enough to last till morning.


	5. The Discovery

Chapter 4- The Fall-out

She wasn't quite sure how to react when she opened the door to see him. Little sleep, frantic pacing and even some desperate tears all because of her best friend, did not prepare her to see her ex-fiancé on her doorstep. At the end of a short struggle, her loneliness and worry won over their earlier clash and she embraced him fiercely, eyes shining in pain. As she stepped away and went back inside he came in to see her panicking and instantly knew the reason. It did not ease his inner turmoil. He let her choke out what he already knew, searching for the slightest sign of blame. She paced just as he had and it was too much.

"How did you know?" He had to ask several times, growing in irrational panic. She didn't know, she couldn't know. When she finally turned and registered his question it was almost a shout. She blinked.

"He… he was calling me and then… it cut off!" Fresh tears bubbled up and arrowed down her cheeks. Frowning, he tried to remember. Had there been a phone? It was too fuzzy.

The dam broke suddenly. She threw herself onto him again, sobbing violently.

"I…I'm just so scared." Feeling her shivering in his arms drew up protective instincts. He hugged her, rubbing her back gently. She was warm and he smiled a little, he was home.

"I just love him so much." The whisper froze them both. "I mean… I mean." He pushed her away roughly; he could see the animal panic quivering in her paralysed stare. Muffles in his ear could have been further stutters or just the pounding of his feral heart, raging in his chest. How naturally electricity crackled through his arm to tighten a swinging fist. The mist in front of his eyes cleared rapidly after the cry. His mind caught up as she resumed her stare.

"Get out! OUT!" She screamed and he ran, unfathomable things stinging his eyes. When he'd gone she collapsed into the wall, shaking and crying.

Daylight shone harshly on them. After those months mourning, that hellish night, everything, one moment of madness had undone everything. He paused at her door. Well, two moments. In the sunlight he felt naked, his dark secret exposing itself. It was risky to come back so soon, shouldn't he keep away from everything linked to…?

No. She was his shining guide. There would only be darkness without her. He leaned into the door, raising an eyebrow as he strained his ear. Nothing.

Where are you? Why are you not here? You're always here for me. Pam sighed and scratched her forehead absent-mindedly as she sat alone in his kitchen.

The Police had come and gone, searched for any clues and had reminded her to call as soon as she heard anything. She had nodded, perhaps, or maybe agreed verbally; all she knew was that they had come and gone and now only she remained. He had a nice kitchen. It was quite small and had lots of little trinkets and bric-a-brac cluttering up the sides, but that's how she liked them. The table took up most of the room; it was old and oak with old smudges and scratches running along it. She traced them with a tentative finger; vaguely remembering that Jim had inherited this table from his parents. Had a young Jim carved these? Feeling the smooth grooves, dipping her finger down and up again, back and forth she tilted her head slightly. The picture of a little brown-haired child seated at the table with pencils and crayons, scribbling playfully, wandered into her head. The child pressed too hard suddenly, ripping the paper and looking around for any witnesses quickly cleared up and scampered away guiltily. She laughed out loud before sobering slightly and blinking furiously. The skin over her cheekbone was throbbing uncomfortably and she had almost run past the mirror that morning. Not wanting to look, not needing to look.

She sighed again and got up to… If asked, she wouldn't have been able to answer. Her body was moving by itself. The fridge was empty apart from some bread and a block of cheese. Grilled Cheese Sandwich. She smiled sadly, that night came back to her like a wondering dream. It was all so clear: the crazy fire complete with whooping and tribal dancing around it, all safe in the distance as they sat together in comfort, and melted cheese, warming her on that cold night. Suddenly her phone started buzzing. Quickly, she scrambled to answer it and as soon as the voice had finished, she had hung up, grabbing her bag as she ran.

He was washing his car. It was a perfectly normal thing to do. Well, maybe not in winter. He shook his head fiercely. No, he had to cover the bloody streak he had left that night; if not in his soul then on his car. After hoovering and scrubbing the boot, making sure the carpet was completely free of any DNA evidence he hosed the whole body, including the mud guards and finished off by waxing. Pushing his cloth-filled hand from the shoulder, arm snapping forward and back felt very therapeutic. His limbs were aching but he pushed through the sharp prickling knotted around his joints. The physical work tended to ease his mind, but little could shake the sounds of pounding from inside the car boot which had plagued his fitful sleep only a few hours before. He shivered again at the sick horror that had sat heavily on his shoulders ever since waking. No nightmare had ever issued sounds that had bounded and rebounded through his head so terrifyingly loud and real.

The buzzing of his phone made him jump.

Suddenly there was red. A powerful heat burned his eyelids. His ears guessed that there could be noises in the distance. Trying to turn his head away from the source of the fire, he scrunched up his face weakly. Then there was the pounding in his head again. For a moment it darkened the all-encompassing red, but then he came back and forced his eyes open to white. Everything was white. Blinking, he tried to focus as the foreign noises abruptly crystallised.

"Wake up!" There was a face. Where had he seen it before? It blurred and then became clearer as Jim realised that the person had a handful of his gown in their fist. His heart disappeared. Then darkness.


	6. The Police

The Police

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

She didn't even hear it now; at least she didn't know that she did. The quiet pulse; short and clear and constant. Though gone from her open thoughts, it had become a beacon in the darkness of her mind, signalling to her hopes. They circled above her head like kites, the thinnest of strings connecting them to the lone figure below, keeping them from becoming lost in the growing storm. The machine called to them when his voice could not. After an incalculable amount of time, she blinked and came back to the white room. She looked down on him, wincing at the broken body before her. Most of the blood had gone, but the intense cold had sharpened the damage under pale skin. Vaguely, she remembered hearing the words 'miracle', 'weak vitals' and 'slim chance'. She kept on staring at the closed lids, willing them to open. The beeps, the words, none of them meant anything to her now. Just him, just him…

Jim.

Jim.

Jim.

He woke suddenly. Bleach. It invaded his nose, harsh on the throbbing in his head.

What had happened to him? He tried to remember. Earth. The smell of it had been rich and deep, filling his weary head. Moisture freezing his chest and stomach but body too weak to shake. An all-consuming night, invading every part of him with only a small light burning in the back of his head.

"Jim?" A voice appeared in the darkness. With effort, he drew up a face to match the question and dispelling the darkness and looking into the white, he saw the same face staring at him. She smiled and his whole chest filled with light. Vaguely, he felt the muscles in his face relax and tried to lift the corners of his mouth encouragingly. His brain didn't know whether his mouth had managed this until the beautiful woman above him started laughing in relief. Warmth spread down his unmoving limbs and with it returned a little feeling. He could feel the sheets under his arms and the drip in his skin. With the waking of his body came a moment of mental clarity; raised hand, dark night, Death. Jim's eyes suddenly widened and Pam cut off what she had been saying, dread exploding inside her, sticking to her organs, making them heavy. He didn't answer her again and she ran for a nurse.

Hovering uselessly, having been pushed to the corridor by harrassed looking nurses, she stood staring at the scene in near-distraught. So engrossed, she hardly registered the presence next to her until he spoke gruffly. Dark circles haunted his eyes, hair wild framing a ragid complexion; he was hardly recongisable as her ex-fiancé, the laughing boy she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

"Pam, we need to talk." His gruff voice made her jump. Remembering their last contact, she shied away, but something in his eyes held her, a flicker of memory, young teens laughing. She nodded mutely and followed him heavily to the corridor. He was blunt.

"Just be straight with me. Who do you really love?" So it came down to this. All the years they had spent together, the cards and flowers, the arguments, the love-making, the long silences and everything in between, all came together to push from the hole in her chest a single word.

"Jim." Courage drained abruptly, his expression almost pushing her backwards off the knife edge. The beast was rousing fast, eyebrows and jaw shaking like the curling fist; animal panic rose in her chest and paralysed every screaming muscle. Then blue saviours turned the corner. The uniforms scattered the growling monster's fists and he retreated quickly away into business of the ward.

Sighing heavily, she turned away to where she'd left her heart.

Seconds, minutes or maybe even hours later, the Police looked to her as the victim had still not woken.

"No," She broke a little more inside as she considered how funny Jim would have found this conversation. "He didn't have any connection to the Mob." She answered the rest of their questions with hardly any knowledge of the words sliding from her chapped lips. No connection had been forged between the two men in her brain, she loved them and they both loved her; what other connection did they have than that? When they'd gone, she slipped back into his room and took his limp hand, rubbing it absent-mindedly. All she could do was remember his smile, his laugh, the way he kissed her.

"Come back to me." Murmuring softly she visually absorbed every inch of him she could see. "Jim, come back."

"Oh my God! Is Jim okay?" The Police Officer paused, looking warily at the shocked looking woman, not blinking, her large dark eyes just staring wide-eyed at him.

"He's in a coma…" Looking at her dramatic expression, he went on hurriedly "but its early days." That said, she went on face alive with gossip.

"Well, if its suspects you're looking for you better start with Pam's ex."

"Roy" the large man nodded knowingly, then shook his big head "I warned Jim…"

"Well obviously it was Anderson, Beasley's ex-fiancé." The shrewd eyes behind large glasses blinked, surprised. "Obviously!"

"Jim! My poor Jim!" The grown man wrung his hands at the sky, swinging a little in his office chair and making the Police Interviewer a little uncomfortable. "Why?" The Officer was startled further when tears erupted from his eyes and the drama continued. "So young, handsome and brilliant… he was just like a younger version of myself. Well," he sniffed, blowing into a silk handkerchief "not that much younger…"

The head of the investigation heard the summaries of the interviews and called for the team to call in Roy Anderson immediately. But when they went to his home, it had been cleaned out, the car was gone and a single phrase was written on a piece of scrap paper, left on his fiancée's bedside table.

_I'm sorry, Pam._


	7. The End

Here it is; it's a bit brief I'll admit, but everything that needs to be said has been said in previous chapters. So here you go!

Chapter 6- The End

There was a storm of flashing lights and fast-talking reporters outside, if she were to wonder near the window she would be able to hear the muffled sounds of wild accusations and speculation. She had purposefully turned off her phone because even if she didn't register it consciously, it was obvious to her that the good people of Dunder-Mifflin were ringing her cell - and house phone - off the wall. She didn't know what they were saying about them. What the latest Police findings were, where Roy could be now, what had happened exactly. God knew she didn't want to even think about any of that any time soon, maybe not ever. She sighed, stroking his hand with her thumb. Maybe later she'd call her mom from a hospital pay phone but at that moment, staring down at… She didn't have the strength to stand, not yet. God dammit she couldn't even form words, couldn't even describe or process what she was sitting next to.

All she knew was that the eyes of her beloved, beloved Jim were still closed and she wished more than anything to see those emeralds again.

You told me you were in love with me. You wanted more than what we had. You were sorry you had misinterpreted our friendship.

I told you that "I can't". I wanted you to know that what we had was so important to me. I was sorry you had misinterpreted our friendship.

Why did I let you go? Letting her eyelids fall, she cursed herself.

Stupid scared little girl.

Through the growing darkness, something squeezed her hand. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her hand and found it in his. Still, that pressure. Wandering her gaze to his face she gasped. He was looking at her. And in that moment, she knew that she would never let go ever again.

xxx

It was sunny. Light hands wafting through the trees, tussling hair gently, slowly turning little toy windmills in a few front gardens. There were few people and cars on the street, the beach's call had been strong that day. A small group of young children skipped past, a front door opened and closed and a car pulled up to a driveway opposite the figure sitting alone in his car.

He watched the car's engine be switched off and a youngish looking woman climb out of the driver's seat. The passenger door opened but the woman walked round and helped the passenger out. He was tall, and from the way he walked, seemed quite weak. It looked a little odd, the short woman guiding the man to the house, slowly but with inphrasable care.

The couple went inside and suddenly the light dimmed in the observer's car. His hands gripped the steering wheel with animal strength, but as he pulled his gaze away they relaxed. It was over.

In complete darkness, he ignited the engine, looked once more at the house and then drove away.


End file.
